The first thing Ilias felt was weight.
His chest. His lungs. The gravity of flesh and bone pulling him down into a body that remembered dying. Then pain—sharp, bright, screaming—as his heart kicked against ribs that had broken around steel. He gasped, dragging air through a throat that felt like fire, and every nerve ending lit up at once.
His eyes flew open.
For a moment, no one moved.
They just stared. Frozen. Like if they blinked, the miracle would vanish and he'd be dead again.
Seraph's face was inches from his—tear-streaked, devastated, beautiful. Her hand gripped his so tight it hurt. Her steel-grey eyes were wide, disbelieving.
"Ilias?" Her voice cracked. Barely a whisper.
He tried to speak. His throat felt raw. "Hey."
The word broke something.
Seraph made a sound—half-sob, half-laugh—and pressed her forehead to his hand. Her shoulders shook. She was crying, really crying, in a way no one had ever seen from her before.
Kojo stood over them. Statue-still. Gauntlets flickering with barely contained energy. His face was a war between relief and disbelief and something that looked like rage at the universe for putting him through this.
"Kid?" His voice was rough. Uncertain. Like he didn't trust what he was seeing.
"I'm okay," Ilias managed. Every word hurt. "I'm here."
Kojo's jaw worked. Once. Twice.
Then he dropped to his knees and pulled Ilias into a careful embrace—mindful of the wound, but desperate. His big brother. His little brother. His family who'd just come back from death.
"Don't you ever," Kojo whispered, voice breaking, "fucking do that again."
"I won't. Promise."
Behind them, Mira collapsed against the wall. Not gracefully. Just—fell. Legs giving out. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Relief and guilt and horror all tangled together in sounds she couldn't contain.
Reverb's helmet cycled through a dozen emotions in three seconds—shock (!!!), joy (^_^), confusion (?!?), disbelief (O_O)—before settling on a heart symbol that pulsed in time with his actual heartbeat.
Rhea stood by the door, arms crossed, but her eyes were wet. Kemi pressed close to her side, one hand on Rhea's shoulder—steady, present, the anchor she'd always been. Rhea wiped her eyes quickly when she thought no one was looking. Tough boss energy didn't mean she didn't feel things. Just meant she felt them privately.
Tzark's volcanic skin flickered bright orange, then deep red, colors shifting with emotions he couldn't quite name. His massive frame seemed to sag with relief.
Vess stood perfectly still, all four arms folded across his chest, but his compound eyes were wet. One hand reached up to wipe at them before he caught himself.
Kaela had stopped shifting entirely. She'd frozen mid-transformation—half purple, half gold—like her body couldn't process what it was seeing and had simply given up trying.
Taren dropped to his knees, one hand on the ground, and whispered prayers to gods he wasn't sure existed but was suddenly very grateful for.
And then the room exploded.
"He's ALIVE!"
"Get everyone—the Blessed is alive!"
"Holy shit, I thought—"
"Someone get water—food—medicine—"
Gang members rushed in from other rooms. Crimson Jacks. Iron Crescent. Violet Tongues. Rusted Saints. Black Sparrows.
They'd been waiting in other parts of the hideout. Some sleeping. Some keeping watch. Some just sitting in silence because what else could you do when someone you'd started to believe in had just died?
Now they crowded the doorway, pushing to see, eyes wide, mouths open.
More Iron Crescent members filtered in behind Rhea—Jax, the scarred human with the mohawk who always stood to Rhea's left during meetings. Mora, the quiet Tuned woman whose sound-manipulation had saved them during the convoy heist. And others, filling the space, making it feel less like a medical room and more like a gathering of family.
"The warrior lives," Tzark rumbled, his voice carrying weight and wonder in equal measure.
Vess's four arms unfolded and refolded nervously. "I've seen people survive impossible things. But that staff went clean through. I saw the wound. That should've been—" He couldn't finish.
Kaela finally moved, colors rippling across her form in waves—purple to gold to green to blue to red and back again. "It's real," she whispered. "He's really alive."
Ilias tried to sit up properly. Pain lanced through his chest. He winced, gasped.
"Easy." Seraph's hand was on his shoulder immediately. Steadying. "You were dead two minutes ago. Don't rush it."
"How long?" Ilias asked.
"Seconds," Kojo said. "Felt like hours. But seconds."
Ilias nodded slowly. Time moved differently in the spirit realm. What felt like a full conversation with gods had been heartbeats in the mortal world.
"Help me up," he said.
"Ilias—" Seraph started.
"I need to move. Test it. Make sure everything works."
Seraph looked at Kojo. Kojo looked at Mira.
Mira nodded shakily. "Physically, he's healed. The divine resonance closed the wound. But adaptation takes time. He'll be weak. Sore. Like recovering from major surgery."
"Then help me," Ilias said.
Seraph slid her arm under his shoulders. Kojo took the other side. Together, they lifted him carefully.
Ilias's legs shook. The world tilted. He gripped their shoulders, breathing hard, but stayed upright.
The room watched in silence.
Then someone started clapping.
Slowly. Then faster. Then everyone joined in.
Applause filled the space. Not polite. Not performative. Raw. Genuine. The kind of sound people made when they witnessed something impossible and needed to express it somehow.
Jax was wiping his eyes with the back of his scarred hand. Mora had both hands pressed to her mouth. Even the hardened Crimson Jacks and battle-worn Violet Tongues were clapping like they meant it, like this mattered.
Ilias looked around at all of them—these people who'd become family, who'd fought beside him, who'd watched him die and refused to give up—and felt something warm spread through his chest that had nothing to do with divine healing.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "All of you."
Kojo cleared his throat. Looked at Mira. His expression hardened slightly.
"Mira. Outside. Now."
The warmth in the room chilled.
Mira stood slowly. Didn't argue. Just nodded and followed him toward the door.
Rhea pushed off the wall. "I'm coming too."
"Rhea—" Kojo started.
"Not negotiable." Her amber eyes were firm. "You're pissed. I get it. But you're not doing this without me there."
Kemi stepped forward, voice quiet but clear. "I'll make sure no one interrupts."
Kojo's jaw tightened. Then he nodded once.
The three of them left.
Kemi positioned herself at the door. Arms crossed. Expression neutral. But everyone knew what it meant—no one goes through.
The door closed.
Silence pressed down.
Ilias looked at Seraph. "I should—"
"You should sit," she said firmly. "Let them handle it. You just came back from the dead. You've done enough."
"But Mira—"
"Made her choice. And Kojo has every right to be angry. But Rhea won't let it go too far." Seraph guided him toward a chair. "Trust them."
Ilias sat. Every muscle ached. The wound in his chest was closed but the phantom memory of steel remained.
Seraph knelt beside him. Still holding his hand. Like if she let go, he'd disappear.
"I meant it," he said quietly. "What I said before. When I was..."
"Dying?" Her voice was barely audible.
"Yeah. I meant it."
Her eyes met his. Red-rimmed. Vulnerable. "So did I."
The moment stretched between them. Charged. Heavy with things unsaid.
Tzark cleared his throat—a sound like rocks grinding together. "We should give them space."
"Agreed," Vess said softly, all four hands making a gesture of respect. "Privacy is... appropriate."
Kaela nodded, finally settling on a deep, respectful blue. "Come on. Let's check the perimeter."
The aliens filtered out, taking several gang members with them. The room emptied slowly, leaving just Ilias, Seraph, Reverb, and Taren.
Then the door burst open.
Reverb stumbled through, arms full of medical supplies, and tripped over the threshold. Supplies went flying. He crashed into a table. The table tipped. A stack of weapons clattered to the floor.
Everyone jumped.
Reverb's helmet displayed: (X_X)
"I'm good," he groaned from the floor. "Totally meant to do that."
Taren laughed—deep, genuine, the kind of sound that released tension. Then Seraph smiled. Actually smiled. Rare and beautiful.
Ilias found himself grinning despite the pain.
The moment between them had passed. But it wasn't gone. Just... postponed.
They'd find time later.
Right now, he was alive. They were together. And that was enough.
---
Outside, in a narrow alley behind the hideout, Kojo rounded on Mira.
"You went alone." His voice was too controlled. The kind of calm that came before storms. "You knew it was a trap. You KNEW, and you went anyway."
Mira stood with her back against the wall. Arms wrapped around herself. She didn't look at him. Couldn't.
"I thought I could handle it," she said. Voice small.
"And instead?" Kojo stepped closer. Not threatening. But intense. "Instead, our brother DIED saving you."
"I know." Her voice broke. "You think I don't know?!"
"Do you?!" Kojo's control slipped. "Because from where I'm standing, you made a selfish choice that almost cost me the only family I have left!"
"He's my family too!" Mira's head snapped up. Tears streaming. "You think I wanted this?! You think I wanted him to—" She couldn't finish. Collapsed back against the wall, sobbing.
"Kojo." Rhea's voice cut through. Sharp. She stepped between them. Hand on his chest. "Stop."
"Rhea—"
"Look at her." Rhea's amber eyes were fierce. "Actually look."
Kojo did. Saw his sister shaking. Saw her trying to hold herself together and failing. Saw the guilt eating her alive.
"She's drowning," Rhea said quietly. "And you're pushing her under."
Kojo's fists clenched. Unclenched. "She endangered him."
"She made a mistake." Rhea didn't move her hand. "The same mistake I made. The same mistake you've made. We've all made calls that went wrong, Kojo. The difference is, hers almost killed someone we love."
"Exactly—"
"And she knows." Rhea's voice softened slightly. "She knows, and it's destroying her. So you can be angry. You have that right. But you're not doing this without acknowledging that she's here too. She's hurting too. And she would've taken that blade herself if she could've."
Kojo looked at Mira. Really looked.
Saw his little sister. The healer. The one who'd quit being an assassin because she couldn't live with the blood anymore. The one who'd been trying so hard to atone.
And now she had more blood on her hands. Ilias's blood. The worst kind.
His anger didn't disappear. But it... shifted. Became something more complicated.
"If I find that Orphan again," Mira said, voice rigid, deadly, "I'm finishing it. No mercy. No hesitation."
Kojo studied her. Saw the steel beneath the guilt.
"We'll find him together," he said finally. "As a family. But Mira—" His voice dropped. Became something raw. "I almost lost both of you today. Don't make me choose between anger and grief again."
Mira nodded. Couldn't speak. Just nodded.
Rhea stepped back. Let them have the moment.
Kojo pulled Mira into a hug. Not gentle. Hard. Desperate. Brother and sister who'd survived too much to lose each other now.
"We're okay," he whispered. "We'll be okay."
Mira buried her face in his shoulder and cried.
---
Deep in the Cult's hideout, the Orphan stumbled through corridors that smelled like old stone and older hate.
Blood dripped from his side. His darkness resonance flickered. Weak. Unstable.
He'd killed the Blessed.
He'd won.
So why did it feel like losing?
The main chamber opened before him. Cultists lined the walls. Silent. Watching.
Maestro Quiet stood at the center. Mask gleaming in candlelight. Perfectly still.
And beside him—
Mia.
She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, shoulders hunched, face pale. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Raw. Like she'd been crying and couldn't stop.
When she saw the Orphan, something in her expression fractured.
The Orphan dropped to one knee. "It's done. The Blessed is dead."
Silence.
Not celebration. Not joy.
Just... silence.
The way it should be. The way their creed demanded.
The Orphan had expected something. Acknowledgment. Approval. Anything.
But this was right. This was proper.
"You're certain?" Maestro Quiet's voice was soft. Measured.
"I drove his own staff through his heart. I felt him die."
Mia made a sound.
Small. Broken. Like something inside her had shattered.
The Orphan looked up. Saw her face.
And suddenly understood.
She'd loved him.
The Blessed. Ilias.
She'd loved him, and now he was dead, and the Orphan had killed him.
More silence.
Then, from the shadows behind Maestro Quiet, something moved.
The air grew cold. Wrong. Like reality itself was bending.
A voice spoke. Not with sound. With presence.
**"Good. Now we can possess his body. Use his soul as a battery."**
The Orphan's blood went cold.
The other Cultists shifted. Uncomfortable. Processing.
That was the plan. Wasn't it?
Before anyone could speak, chains erupted from the darkness.
Spiked. Black. Humming with Silence.
But they didn't come from nowhere.
They came from Mia.
Her hands blazed with dark resonance—not the Entity's power, but her own. Chains materialized from shadow, wrapped with her grief and rage and heartbreak, and shot forward like striking snakes.
They wrapped around the Orphan's throat and *yanked*.
He hit the ground, choking, clawing at the metal.
Mia stood over him. Tears streaming down her face. Expression twisted with fury and anguish.
"You killed him?" Her voice shook. Broke. Rose to a scream. "YOU KILLED HIM?!"
The chains tightened. The Orphan gasped. Tried to speak. Couldn't.
"Mia." Maestro Quiet's voice was sharp. "Control yourself."
"Control?!" She laughed. High. Broken. Unhinged. "You sent him to kill Ilias and you want me to—"
"I sent him to eliminate a threat. The Blessed intervened."
"And now he's DEAD!" Her voice cracked completely. "He was supposed to—I was supposed to—"
She couldn't finish.
The chains tightened further. The Orphan's vision darkened at the edges.
"He was GOOD!" Mia screamed. "He was trying to help people! He wasn't like the Church, he wasn't like Vaen, he was—" Her voice broke into sobs. "He was kind to me. When no one else was. When everyone saw me as just another Cultist, he saw—"
"Enough." Maestro Quiet stepped forward. Placed a hand on Mia's shoulder.
She flinched. The chains loosened slightly. The Orphan sucked in air, gasping.
"You're compromised," Maestro Quiet said quietly. Not unkindly. But firm. "Your emotions are clouding your judgment. Go. Compose yourself. We'll discuss this later."
Mia looked at the Orphan. At Maestro Quiet. At the other Cultists watching with expressions she couldn't read.
At her own hands, still crackling with dark energy.
"I loved him," she whispered. "And now he's gone."
She dropped the chains. They clattered to the stone floor and dissolved into shadow.
Then she turned and fled.
Her footsteps echoed. Then faded.
The Orphan climbed to his feet. Slowly. Throat raw. Hands shaking. Neck bleeding where the spikes had dug in.
"Rest," Maestro Quiet said. "You've done well. We'll speak tomorrow."
The Orphan nodded and limped away.
One by one, the Cultists dispersed. Returning to their chambers. Their prayers. Their silence.
Until only Maestro Quiet remained.
He stood alone in the dark.
Waiting.
Then the Entity spoke again. Not aloud. Directly into his mind.
**"Something is off."**
Maestro Quiet's posture didn't change. "Explain."
**"I can't sense the Blessed's frequency clearly. It's... muted. Distant. But not entirely gone."**
"He's dead. The boy saw him die."
**"Perhaps."** The Entity's tone was contemplative. **"Or perhaps something intervened. Divine forces. The gods play their games."**
"Does it matter? If he's dead, we proceed. If he lives, we adapt."
**"Pragmatic as always."** Something like amusement colored the presence. **"That's why I chose you, Maestro. You understand that plans must be flexible."**
"We had a deal. You help me kill Vaen. I help you claim this world."
**"And we're moving toward that goal. But I have my own considerations. My own contingencies. That's simply good strategy."**
Maestro Quiet was silent for a long moment. "You're keeping things from me."
**"Of course I am."** No denial. No apology. **"Just as you keep things from me. We're allies, Maestro. Not friends. Allies have secrets."**
"As long as those secrets don't interfere with our arrangement."
**"They won't. I need you functional. Focused. If I had a proper body, we could converse face to face. Plan properly. But my last contractor died, so you get this... spectral communication."**
"Your last contractor?"
**"Another tool. Long gone now. Their body failed. Mortality is so fragile."** A pause. **"But you're different. Stronger. You'll last longer."**
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Maestro Quiet felt something cold settle in his chest. But he pushed it down. Buried it.
He'd made his choice. Revenge on Vaen. Justice for his village. For his wife.
Everything else was secondary.
"I'll handle the preparations," he said finally. "You focus on whatever you need to focus on."
**"Excellent."** The presence began to fade. **"Rest, Maestro. Tomorrow, we begin the next phase."**
The cold retreated. The air warmed slightly.
Maestro Quiet stood alone.
Then he walked.
Not to his chambers. Not to rest.
Out. Through the back passages. Into the night.
The streets of the lower Morrows were dark. Empty. Most people had learned to stay inside after curfew.
But not everyone.
Maestro Quiet moved through shadows like he was part of them. Silent. Patient.
He'd noticed the man three weeks ago. Too careful. Too observant. Asked too many questions that seemed casual but weren't.
A spy.
Church, probably. Maybe one of the families. Didn't matter.
What mattered was that Maestro Quiet had let him operate. Let him gather information. Let him think he was clever.
Because knowing where the leaks were was more valuable than plugging them immediately.
But now?
Now the spy had outlived his usefulness.
Maestro Quiet found him in a back alley near the docks. The man was hunched over a small communicator, whispering coordinates. Meeting points. Updates.
Maestro Quiet waited until he finished.
Then stepped out of the shadows.
The spy spun. Hand going to his weapon.
Too slow.
Maestro Quiet's blade was already at his throat.
"Maestro—I was just—"
"Reporting to your handler." Quiet's voice was soft. Almost gentle. "I know. I've been listening for weeks."
The spy's eyes widened. "I don't—"
"Don't insult me with denials." The blade pressed closer. Drew a thin line of blood. "Tell me every meeting point. Every dead drop. Every contact."
"I can't—"
"You will. Or you'll die slowly. Your choice."
The spy swallowed. Felt the blade. Saw Maestro Quiet's eyes through the mask—cold, patient, absolutely certain.
He talked.
Gave up locations. Names. Codes. Everything.
When he finished, he looked up desperately. "I told you everything. Please—"
"I know you did." Maestro Quiet's tone didn't change. "Thank you."
The blade moved.
Fast. Precise. Through the ribs. Up. Into the heart.
The spy gasped. Blood bubbled on his lips.
Maestro Quiet leaned close. Whispered in his ear.
"Tell Vaen, in hell, that the Maestro wasn't as blind as he thought."
The spy's eyes went wide. Then empty.
Maestro's withdrew the blade. Cleaned it on the corpse's jacket. Straightened.
Looked down at the body for a long moment.
Then turned and walked back into the shadows.
Behind him, the spy's communicator crackled with static.
A voice came through. Tinny. Distant. "Report. Did you make contact? Confirm status."
No answer.
Just silence.
The way it should be.
Three kilometers northeast, alarms screamed through a Church detention facility.
Kojo's gauntlets blazed gold as he punched through a reinforced door. The metal crumpled like paper.
"Go go go!" Rhea's voice cut through the chaos.
Iron Crescent moved like water—fast, coordinated, lethal. Kemi led the vanguard, her twin blades singing as they cut through guards. Jax's mohawk was slicked with sweat and blood as he fired resonance bursts. Mora's sound manipulation turned enemy communications into feedback screams.
Tzark's volcanic fists left molten handprints on walls. Vess's four arms carried weapons and moved with surgical precision. Kaela shifted into guard uniforms, slipped past checkpoints, opened doors from the inside.
Crimson Jacks poured in behind them. Violet Tongues covered flanks. Rusted Saints held the perimeter.
And Ilias moved through it all like a ghost.
He shouldn't be here. Should be resting. Recovering.
But he'd insisted. And no one could stop him.
Seraph stayed at his side. Close. Protective. Her swords sang as they cut through resistance.
She was fighting harder than usual. Faster. Stronger. Like something inside her had unlocked.
She didn't understand it. Didn't question it.
Just fought.
"Where are the Sanctifiers?" Reverb's voice crackled through comms. "Scans show minimal resistance. This doesn't make sense."
"It's a trap," Ilias said.
"Then why are we still going?" one of the Sparrows asked.
"Because they're counting on us thinking it's a trap and turning back," Kojo said. "We're getting the Choir. Period."
They pushed deeper.
Encountered guards. Augmented. Armored. Enhanced.
But not Sanctifiers. Not the real threats.
Just... soldiers.
Tough ones. Well-trained. Dangerous.
But beatable.
Kojo's gauntlets crushed armor. Rhea's resonance-enhanced strikes dropped guards in single hits. Kemi moved like liquid death, twin blades finding gaps in armor with brutal efficiency. Tzark moved like a landslide. Vess fought with four-weapon combinations that left enemies confused and unconscious.
Ilias combined elements in ways that shouldn't work.
Fire and water creating superheated steam. Earth and air launching projectiles. Light and shadow weaving illusions that made enemies shoot each other.
He was fighting differently. Not like a Tuned. Like something beyond.
And slowly, carefully, without fully understanding why, he was holding back.
Keeping the real power locked. Hidden.
Like something inside him whispered to wait. To be careful. To stay hidden.
They reached the central detention block.
The door was open.
Alarms still blaring. But no guards. No resistance.
Just... emptiness.
"This is wrong," Seraph whispered.
Kojo stepped through first. Gauntlets raised. Kemi flanked him, blades ready.
The cell block stretched before them. Rows of doors. Most closed. A few open.
At the far end, standing in a pool of light, was the Blind Man.
His back was turned. Head tilted. Listening.
Then he turned to face them.
Scars where his eyes should be. White cloth wrapped around his head. Lean. Weathered. Radiating power like heat from a forge.
"You're late," he said.
His voice was gravel and wind.
"Blind Man," Ilias breathed.
The man smiled faintly. "Not blind. Just... differently sighted."
He stepped forward. Around him, unconscious guards lay in perfect circles. Not dead. Just... stopped.
"This was a trap," the Blind Man said. "Not for you. For them."
"What?" Kojo's grip tightened.
"Vaen let this happen. Wanted you to come. Needed you distracted." The Blind Man's expression was grim. "While you're here, his forces are moving on the Morrows. The real assault is happening now."
Horror spread through the group.
Kemi's blades lowered slightly. "How many?"
"Everything he has." The Blind Man's voice was flat. "Sanctifiers. Enhanced units. Resonance suppressors. He's going to wipe them out. Every human. Every alien. Every soul in those districts. Turn them into Sanctifiers. Build an army. Use this planet as his base to fight the Main Church."
"Why?" Seraph's voice was tight.
"Because he believes the Church has grown corrupt. That Crescendia's leadership is the only pure faction left. That the galaxy needs to be cleansed." The Blind Man's tone was flat. "He's building a war machine. And the Morrows are his raw materials."
Silence.
Then Kojo: "How do you know this?"
"I've been listening." The Blind Man tapped his temple. "For weeks. Every conversation. Every order. Every whispered plan. Sound carries. And I hear everything."
He stepped closer. "They thought I was broken. Harmless. A trophy prisoner. They let me hear too much."
Reverb's voice crackled: "Can you get the others? The Choir?"
"Already did." The Blind Man gestured.
From the side passages, figures emerged. Thin. Weak. But alive.
The Choir.
Twelve people who'd helped Ilias in the early days. Who'd given him shelter. Information. Hope.
They looked like they'd been through hell. Experimented on. Drained. But their eyes were alert. Aware.
"Thank you," one of them whispered. A woman with silver hair. "We thought... we thought you'd forgotten us."
"Never," Ilias said. "We're getting you out. All of you."
"Then move quickly," the Blind Man said. "Vaen's forces will realize you're here soon. And when they do—"
The building shook.
Alarms changed pitch. Became urgent. Hostile.
"Too late," the Blind Man muttered.
"Everyone out!" Kojo roared. "NOW!"
They ran.
The Choir, supported by gang members. Kemi and Jax taking point. The Blind Man moving with impossible grace despite his lack of sight. Seraph and Ilias bringing up the rear.
Behind them, reinforcements poured in. Not guards.
Sanctifiers.
Three of them. Eight meters tall. Ivory steel. Reality bending around them.
"Go!" Ilias pushed Seraph forward. "I'll hold them—"
"Like hell." She grabbed his arm. "We go together."
The Sanctifiers raised weapons—resonance cannons that could unmake matter.
Kojo turned. Gauntlets blazing. "Get them out. I'll—"
The ceiling collapsed.
Not from damage. From something above.
A fourth Sanctifier crashed through. Massive. Gleaming.
It stood between them and the exit.
Blocked.
Trapped.
The Blind Man stepped forward. Calm. Focused.
"Go around. I'll make an opening."
"You can't—" Ilias started.
"I fought a Blessed and survived." The Blind Man's smile was sharp. "You think I'm afraid of Church toys?"
He raised his hands.
And the world screamed.
Sound. Pure. Unfiltered. Weaponized.
The frequency hit the Sanctifiers like a tidal wave. Their armor cracked. Their forms vibrated. Reality itself bent around the assault.
One staggered. Fell.
The others pressed forward, but slower. Struggling.
"GO!" the Blind Man roared.
They went.
Kemi led the way through side passages, muscle memory from years of Iron Crescent operations guiding them through maintenance corridors the Church probably didn't even remember existed.
Up emergency stairs. Through maintenance tunnels.
The Choir stumbled but kept moving. Gang members half-carried them. Jax had one over his shoulder. Mora supported two with sound-constructs that bore their weight.
Behind them, the sounds of battle echoed. Sanctifiers screaming. Metal tearing. The Blind Man's power shaking the foundation.
They burst out into night air.
Ran.
Didn't stop until they were six blocks away.
Then collapsed. Breathing hard. Alive.
The Blind Man appeared thirty seconds later. Breathing slightly harder. Clothes torn. But uninjured.
"Well," he said. "That was fun."
Kojo stared at him. "You just fought four Sanctifiers alone."
"Three and a half. One was damaged." The Blind Man shrugged. "I've had worse days."
Ilias laughed. Couldn't help it. The absurdity. The relief. The exhaustion.
Kemi cracked a smile—rare from her. Tzark's volcanic skin glowed warm orange. Vess made a sound that might have been laughter with four throats. Kaela shifted to a bright, joyful yellow.
Soon everyone was laughing. Not because anything was funny. But because they were alive. They'd won. They'd gotten the Choir back.
As they walked back to the hideout, the Blind Man fell into step beside Ilias.
"You're different," he said quietly. "Since I last saw you."
"A lot's happened."
"I can hear it. In your resonance. In the way reality bends around you." The Blind Man tilted his head. "Something changed. Something big."
Ilias nodded but didn't elaborate.
The Blind Man smiled faintly. "Good. Keep your secrets for now. But soon, you'll need to share them. Because what's coming will require everyone to understand what you've become."
"What is coming?"
The Blind Man was silent for a moment. Listening to frequencies only he could hear.
"Everything," he said finally. "Everything is coming. And we need to be ready."
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
Behind them, the city burned with distant fires.
And beneath it all, in tunnels no one watched, something massive and wrong continued to grow.
Waiting.
Hungry.
Patient.